


Partager Nos Vies

by am_bellanoire



Series: Pour Toujours [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Heavy on the Emotional, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_bellanoire/pseuds/am_bellanoire
Summary: Now here she was, about to embark on this adventure a third time – well, second and half time if she were being technical. Right. What the bloody fuckhadshe been thinking.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: Pour Toujours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876006
Comments: 9
Kudos: 100





	Partager Nos Vies

As Bellatrix paced in one of the huge, immaculately furnished chambers of the restored Black Manor, there was only one question repeating itself in her head over and over, reminding her of her time in Azkaban prison when her thoughts had often decided to spin on a wheel whenever her bones had frosted over from the presence of the Dementors. 

“What the bloody _fuck_ was I thinking?” 

Oh, she had uttered it aloud this time. Thin fingers knifed in her hair, spilling over her shoulders and down her back, a far cry from the elegant chignon Cissy had envisioned in her extravagant plans for this wedding. How all her hair would even fit into something as prissy as a _chignon_ was the least of Bella's problems as far as she was concerned. No, she was far more preoccupied with this tumble into madness she had clearly taken to even be doing _this_ again. _This_ being matrimony. 

Her first marriage, if one could call it that, was hardly more than an exchange, a bargain made to perpetuate the purity of blood and to put her sisters onto the market. Because Merlin forbid the younger sisters married before the eldest. What defects must lay in the family if that were the case. But then again, hardly anyone who could be called a Pureblood would pass up the opportunity to marry into the Noble House of Black and so all three sisters had countless suitors vying for them, drawn by the power of the name and the fact that all three witches were beautiful. In the end she had chosen the eldest Lestrange brother because he had been the only one not to look at her as if she were something to be chewed up and spit out. Thanks to their proximity in school, she was privy to his proclivities for wizards and agreed to wed him under the agreement that in fulfilling both of their family's requirements they both be discreetly permitted to indulge in their _preferences_. Thus the first year of her first marriage, she'd known a freedom she hadn't felt since - wrapped in the arms, her eardrums caressed by the pleasure filled cries of witches from France, Germany, Russia, Japan, the Americas, and this rather succulent Uagagou graduate who she had ultimately had to Obliviate lest she be tempted to permanently keep her. 

Bellatrix had never wanted to be a wife. Druella Black nee Rosier had never made the position desirable. She _might_ have wanted to be a mother once, if only to prove that she could keep a child alive without binding it to societal chains. She might have secretly longed for that sort of love, having never felt it from her own mother. But those stupidly sentimental thoughts were quite effectively crushed under the influence of the Dark Lord who had given her a set of shiny new chains disguised as freedom and well, that had been that. 

She considered _that_ time in her life a second marriage in which she hadn't so much played wife as she had mistress. 

And now here she was, about to embark on this _adventure_ a third time – well, second and half time if she were being technical. Right. What the bloody fuck _had_ she been thinking. 

“The florists have finally finished and the musicians have just arri – Bella! For Merlin's sake why aren't you dressed yet? Your hair is a mess and oh, we're going to be behind schedule!”

To her credit, Bellatrix merely scoffed and rolled her eyes at her sister's hysterics. She cast a disdainful eye to the swathes of layered crimson, magically suspended because it wouldn't all fit into a wardrobe. Narcissa had of course chosen the gown. She couldn't possibly be wed in white for a second time, that would be unseemly. And black, she wore it so often, it simply wouldn't do for the occasion. Narcissa had nearly fainted when Bellatrix had informed her that the only other option would be red, blood red because she refused to wear anything else. 

_“Red for a wedding Bella? What would people _say_?”_

_“That this old harlot is finally settling down I imagine,” the dark witch muttered, casually studying her fingernails to avoid making eye contact with the overly chipper young witch at Twilfit and Tattings. Merlin didn't these young one's have _any_ tact nowadays? Suffice it to say, she was the last person in the world to educate anyone on the subject. But there was a fine line between being politely helpful and ecstatically tossing your bloody knickers. “You'll have to kill me to get me in anything else, Cissa, so I suggest you let the little twit take my measurements before she puts her hand up your skirts in an attempt to persuade you.”_

“It's my fucking wedding, I can wear my hair down if I damn well please,” Bellatrix all but growled, not stopping in her pacing as Narcissa stepped into the room but not before closing and locking the door, casting a silent Mufflato just in case because when the dark witch was in one her moods things tended to get more than a little noisy.

“But the gown it's - “

“So you can alter it can't you. Make it strapless, a halter, I don't bloody care. You think I want this ugly mark on my neck visible for the world to see anyway?” Bellatrix could hear her pitch heighten in the way it did when she was upset, but did nothing to lower it. How could she when her heart was pounding faster than a caged bird and her lungs were now struggling to take in air. Fuck, she was beginning to panic but as always when her emotions took full control, she didn't know how to combat it. 

But ever in her nature, she tried to grasp at control even if the strands were fragile, gossamer wisps like spider silk that evaporated before she could touch. She stopped pacing, but her body still moved, twitching with nervous energy and inertia as she gave the blonde her back, the strings of her corset loose. 

“Lace me up Cissy.”

The youngest Black daughter deflated considerably, going from wedding planner and hostess to sister mode as she crossed the distance between herself and Bellatrix, her fingers nimble as she pulled and tied the elder's stays. She didn't have to see what she was doing to know she was doing it as she was familiar with corsets. So she pressed herself closer and set her chin on an unsteady shoulder. 

“Bella what's the matter, aren't you happy?”

Bellatrix bit down hard on her lower lip, her brows furrowing as she allowed the touch for a moment, let herself linger in the attempted comfort for a little while. Battling the sharp sting behind her eyelids. But then she exhaled harshly though her nose, grasping her own hair in a tight fist so that it wouldn't get in the way of the laces and took a jerking step forward to break contact. 

“It's nothing,” Salazar's _snake_ she couldn't even speak, her lungs felt like they were burning, “Just lace me tighter.” She needed it, needed something else to focus on, needed something to ground her and keep her in the here and now because for the life of her, Bellatrix felt as if she was losing that last little marble she was barely holding onto. 

“If I tie this any tighter, you won't be able to breathe Bella,” Narcissa gently chided, stilling her hands and it was the slackness in the lacing that finally made the former Death Eater snap. She snatched herself away from her sister, rounding on her, cheeks flushed and pitch eyes aflame with rage. 

“I don't _want_ to breathe, I don't want to fucking _think_. This is all your fault!” she raged, resuming her pacing, nearly choking on the words due to the fiery pain in her chest, “If you hadn't told her about that damned ring we – oh _va te faire foutre_ Narcissa, spare me, I know you did - I wouldn't be about to condemn myself and ruin Hermione's life in one fell swoop!”

Because _that_ was it, wasn't it? Screw herself, Bellatrix had done this before. She knew what she was getting into. But Hermione, for as _brilliant_ as she was, was a fool for even _wanting_ to marry her. Yeah, the girl deserved marriage, sure. Hermione hadn't been weaved into the web of Pureblood aristocracy, in fact she'd been bred of the entire opposite. Where she came from _marriage_ was about love and sweet kisses and partnership and family and... _fuck_ . She deserved some much better than a broken shell of a bigoted former Death Eater who had been around the world thrice before being confined for more than half her intended's age in a cell where she'd lost most of her mind. 

Thanking her magic that managed to keep her hair in place without even one pin and her sense to not change into her official dress untl the brides to be were ready, Narcissa grabbed her sister by the arms and fought to hold her still. Tussling with an incensed Bellatrix was no easy feat, probably something someone with a death wish might do, and she said a third silent thanks for having the luxury of growing up the youngest to know exactly how to brace her weight to keep from getting thrown to the ground. Because _that_ wouldn't have been ladylike at all. 

“Bella, Bellatrix _stop_ ,” she said, voice strained but soothing, “Breathe with me for a spell, yes? Calm down, calm down. It's all right.”

The raven haired witch''s brows were furrowed, her chest heaving, but she tried to calm as instructed. It was hard, but slowly and surely the room's walls stopped trying to close in on her as her panic induced venomous thoughts stopped running rampant in her head, “How, how can you say it's all right?” Damn, she hated the weakness in her voice, the lump in her throat, the desperation she couldn't hide.

But Narcissa just brushed her hair back from her face and smiled despite the fact that her blue gray eyes had welled with tears. And Bellatrix found the will in that alone to get a grip, a loose one, but a grip just the same because she couldn't very well lose her shit if her littlest sister was _crying_ for Salazer's sake

“Don't you remember,” the blonde whispered, still smiling even as water spilled in twin streaks down her face, “The day you married Rodolphus? You didn't care that you couldn't possibly be happy with him, you didn't care that you were sacrificing yourself for me and Andromeda so that we'd have a chance at the whole debacle ourselves. I don't care what you tell yourself Bella. You _wanted_ love. You wanted compassion. You wanted to be appreciated for who you were, who you are,” Narcissa sighed softly, a sad sound though she didn't let the sadness bleed into her resolve, “You did your duty to the family with a straight back and raised chin, you didn't _fight_. You didn't want it, so you didn't fight. You've always fought for what you wanted Bella. Always. And you're fighting this now because you're trying to convince yourself you don't deserve it when you want it, you do. I've never seen you happier than you've been with her. Give this to yourself Bella. You've _given_ your life to so many, let yourself share your life with someone who can give it back to you in return. Stop fighting, you've already won.”

And yeah, _fuck_ , she was crying too now. Because how could anyone, even someone like her, hold all _that_ in. The truth of Narcissa's little speech was what hurt the most. Lies only hurt when they were unraveled to reveal truth. Honesty though, honesty _always_ stung for as virtuous as it was. Honesty was like peeling back skin to expose something so personal, so vulnerable. To bare oneself in a way that was deeper than nakedness. To brace oneself for repercussions. It was like...being on trial for a crime you knew you committed and knew you had been punished for already because no prison sentence could flay you the way yourself could rip your own flesh away. _Oh_. The lies she had regurgitated into her own head, the false truths and delusions all felt so much better than this. So much better. But the truth, the real truth was she'd never known reciprocation in... _anything_. 

“I _love_ her,” she sobbed, broken open like the fruit of the tree from which her wand was crafted, “Fuck me dead, I love her. I love her more than anything I've ever loved. And she loves me back, _me_ , and...and I love that she loves me. She shouldn't. She should hate me and I should hate her but I _can't_ , Cissy. She's, she's purer than everything I thought was pure.”

The knowing look and raised brow, blunt even if teary eyed, sent a chill down Bellatrix's spine. It wasn't entirely unpleasant though and she sniffled softly as Narcissa brushed her tears away with the pad of her thumb, doing the same extending her hand to flick away wetness from beneath steel blue. They hadn't dried each others tears since the night Andromeda left and in a way, it helped center her better than a tightly laced corset might. 

“It doesn't have to be this grand,” Narcissa offered hesitantly, very hesitantly, “We could do something smaller, more intimate, maybe?” 

And the tense wave was effectively broken by Bellatrix gasping, dark eyes widening in mock terror. She even took it up a notch by stumbling backward and placing a hand to her chest. 

“Sweet Circe Cissy, we can't do that. Not after all your hard work Think of the expense, what would the Prophet say?”

And to her credit Narcissa _tried_ to look exasperated, even managing to roll her eyes at her sister's antics, but there was no hiding the abject relief that filled her face as she tried to snap herself back into her usual proper self. 

“Come now, enough of this foolishness. We can't be blotchy messes for your wedding. The guests, the press. It would be a disaster.”

The ceremony for all the extravagance surrounding it was simple, lovely, but delightfully simple. Hermione, beautiful in a blush rose gown, had been escorted down the curved staircase of the manor by Harry Potter on her right, Ron Weasley on her left. The photographers from the Daily Prophet had literally tripped over themselves to snap photographs of the Golden Trio from every angle. Barring the reporters from the Prophet, Witch Weekly, and other tabloids, the assemblage was rather personal. Family, closest friends. The Weasley boys and their wives – little Victoire had been the flower girl, already filling into her eighth Veela heritage with dimpled cheeks and flaxen hair – Draco and his new bride, Astoria, the Scamanders, Luna and Rolf who had been _kind_ enough to release a flock of odd one feathered birds upon their arrival, and to the surprise of the dark haired bride, Neville Longbottom and his girlfriend Hannah. It paled in comparison to the shock of seeing Andromeda sitting in the front row, her grandson Teddy accompanying Victoire bearing the rings. 

But despite Narcissa's _perfect_ wedding – because honestly, all of this fanfare had been _her_ doing - going off without a hiccup, it wasn't until afterwards in the twilit evening, on the sprawling grounds of the ancient manor illuminated by enchanting flame with her love in her arms, that Bellatrix could take the first deep breath of the day. As she gazed into honeyed eyes and let her fingers brush a peach colored cheek, she could not imagine living out the rest of her days without this. She had done so many unsavory things, wicked things, hateful things in pursuit of all the wrong things, spoon fed to her by the worst of the Wizarding world. But by some chance, by some twist of fate, she had been allowed this one taste of happiness. And she had always been obsessive, a glutton for which she liked. For which she loved. She had always been willing to die for that which mattered most to her. Who would have thought, when she had been eighteen and wed to a wizard she could never love despite his blood status and wealth, that fate would deal her a new hand nearly four decades later and open her scorched heart to everything she thought she could never want. But evidently _needed_. 

“You're a vision, pet,” Bellatrix whispered, “Beautiful.”

And Hermione smiled that smile of hers that rivaled the sun on a clear summer afternoon, all golden and warm and bright, “Almost as beautiful as you, _mon étoile_.”

The dark witch laughed, really laughed. Not a cackle, not a chuckle but her true laugh that only her sisters and Hermione had ever heard. “Did the little Veela teach you that one?” There was no malice in the statement, only mirth and a touch of mischief. She couldn't remember when last she had ever felt so _light_. 

“No, I read it in a book,” the former Gryffindor volleyed back, jutting out her chin even as her expression betrayed teasing and humor. 

“Swot.”

“And you love it.”

Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat but still she managed to get the words out, words that she had uttered not long before, “I do.”

Because she did. Just as she had confessed to her sister, this was something she _had_ always wanted. A reciprocated love. A love she didn't have to fight for, she didn't have to kill for, she didn't have to bleed for, didn't have to torture out of anyone. Didn't have to seek in the arms of countless others. Didn't have to hide. Didn't have to think made her weak because, verily, it _strengthened_ her. Granted, she would always be Bellatrix Black, she would always have a dark flame burning within her, she would always be able to revive the wicked witch she had been when it came to defending this new life, when it came to defending who and what she loved. But now, now she had someone who knew all of that, embraced all of that, and _loved_ all of that. Like Narcissa said, it was time to stop fighting. She _had_ already won. 

Seemingly out of nowhere an Elf popped in with a tray laden with champagne flutes, bowing despite the fact that it wore dress robes trimmed to size. That had been Hermione's quite vehemently delivered request that if there were going to be House Elves they be freed Elves and paid for their duties. Narcissa was paying them fifteen Sickles by the hour. Times that by the some twenty odd Elves needed and Bellatrix had delighted in seeing the color drain from her sister's face at the very thought. 

Snickering softly to herself, she plucked two flutes from the silver tray, handing one to her new bride before extending her own in a toast. 

“To sharing our lives.”

The crystalline clink of the glasses somehow managed to elicit the same feeling in her chest that had erupted when Hermione had made her vows and she couldn't help the self indulgent smile that tugged at the corners of her full lips when Hermione added her own sentiment, a promise sealed with a soft and lingering kiss. 

“Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a third and final part to this, being the wedding night of course, because I'm hopeless and need to write or read something smutty on a semi-regular basis.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, the kudos and the lovely comments in the previous story. Feedback on this would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
